


What We Need

by chellerrific



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Character Study, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Multi, Relationship Study, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellerrific/pseuds/chellerrific
Summary: Lyse is in search of a connection.





	What We Need

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I recently got to Stormblood and it’s been kind of relentlessly miserable so far. Instead of using comedy to cope, this time I resorted to sex, and I don’t really understand it either, but here we are.
> 
> Spoilers for early Stormblood.

It was as if by shedding the persona of Yda, something had fundamentally changed within Lyse. She didn’t feel like the same person at all, even though she was, and she didn’t like the feeling at all.

It wasn’t really losing Yda that had done it though. More than anything, it was losing Papalymo.

Being a Scion had always meant loss. It came of being people who stood for something. That meant danger and sacrifice, and she had always known this, but she wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. The massacre at the Waking Sands, the disastrous banquet and escape from Ul’dah, Moenbryda, Minfilia, the Reach, the list seemed endless. And Papalymo had to go and make a place for himself on it too.

It didn’t seem real. Some days, _she_ didn’t seem real. And some days, though she was loath to say any such thing aloud, she couldn’t tolerate being alone. It made her feel like she didn’t exist.

Her footsteps carried her, zombie-like, to the infirmary. Y’shtola had a soothing presence, like cool spring water. Lyse had always looked up to her, but she found herself reflexively clinging more tightly lately. Y’shtola had a way of putting things in perspective which could be blunt or ungentle, but it was always bracing and real and Lyse would come away feeling a little lighter, at least for a time.

The curtain to Y’shtola’s room was unhooked. She must have been asleep. Deeply disappointed, Lyse was nevertheless unwilling to bother her while she was resting. She was much, much better, thanks to the ministrations of Alphinaud and Krile and the others, but she still needed to take it easy for a bit. Y’shtola hated it but was doing her best to oblige.

Hopefully, Lyse pulled back the curtain just a bit to see if Y’shtola might be awake after all, perhaps reading or doing some other such scholarly things.

The room was dim and it took Lyse a moment to register the scene before her. Y’shtola was not asleep, nor was she was alone. Her clothes were still on but askew, and Thancred, half-undressed, was on the bed with her, the two so wrapped up in one another it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

“Oh gods,” Lyse blurted out, averting her gaze.

Thancred, startled, pulled away from Y’shtola, and for a moment the three of them looked at each other, not speaking.

It wasn’t like this was a surprise, exactly. There had always been a kind of spark between the two of them, and circumstances had been drawing them ever closer, especially since the escape from Ul’dah.

“I’m so sorry,” Lyse said, taking a step back. “I’ll go—”

“No,” Y’shtola said. With a few sharp tugs her clothing was neatly back in place. “What is it, Lyse?”

Lyse hesitated, trying not to stare at Thancred as he searched unsuccessfully for his shirt. “I just… wanted to see you. And how you’re doing. Which is, uh, fine, it would seem.”

“Come in,” Y’shtola said, nudging Thancred with her elbow. Obligingly, he scooted back to make room for Lyse. “We were only killing time. It’s so damn tedious being stuck in here.”

“You’re making me swoon, my lady,” Thancred deadpanned. “Isn’t she an incurable romantic?”

“Do shut up,” Y’shtola said, a smile pricking at the corners of her mouth. “Sit down, Lyse.”

Lyse knew she really should make her excuses and go, leaving them to it, but her desperation for company was too strong. She sat down on the bed, where the three of them huddled like children at a slumber party.

“What’s bothering you, my dear?” Y’shtola said.

Lyse smiled weakly. “Who said anything was bothering me?”

“Your face,” Y’shtola said. “Is there aught we might do? There must be some reason you came.”

“Only… only I wanted to see how you were doing. I thought for a moment that we had lost you too, and I cannot seem to completely shake how it felt, seeing you fall like that.”

Y’shtola scooted closer, laying a hand on top of Lyse’s. “I’m quite well. I don’t intend to go anywhere anytime soon.”

“Nobody ever does, do they?” Lyse said quietly.

Y’shtola gave her hand a light squeeze. “No, I don’t suppose they do.”

“Moen,” Lyse said. “Minfilia. And now my partner, my brother, my best friend…” Hot tears pricked at her eyes. She felt her face burn as they began to roll down her cheeks. She _hated_ crying in front of people, especially Y’shtola. It made her feel weak and childish.

There was a shuffling on the bed and suddenly Lyse was enveloped in warmth and comfort and familiar smells. Thancred and Y’shtola had both, as if of one mind, come to embrace her tightly.

Emotional intimacy was something Lyse had seldom experienced since the death of her sister. It was difficult to make that connection when she was playing the role of someone else. Even if they had known, unbeknownst to her, and even as dearly as she loved them all, she was an outsider, never a true member of the Circle, never truly doing more than putting on a show. Papalymo had been her anchor, though “emotional intimacy” was hardly his strong suit, and now that had been torn away. It was like losing a limb. A small, fractious, dour limb who nevertheless always drove her to be a better person. Whatever maturity and strength of character she possessed, she owed to him.

She let herself melt into the embrace, nuzzling her face in Y’shtola’s neck. It felt so good to be held like this, and she could have stayed there indefinitely. She understood Y’shtola and Thancred’s desire for the touch of one another. It was a reminder they were alive and not alone, that they were loved, wanted, that there were good things in the world and they could still engage and feel and taste them.

“I’m,” she said quietly.

Y’shtola pulled away slightly, forcing Lyse to look up into those haunting pale eyes. She cupped Lyse’s cheek in her hand, gently stroking it with the featherlight touch of a fingertip. “Do you want to stay?”

It was small and hesitant, but Lyse nodded.

Y’shtola leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, soft and light but with much feeling. Lyse opened her lips obligingly, not realizing until now just how hungry she was for Y’shtola’s pert little mouth. Y’shtola twined her hand in Lyse’s long blond hair, the feeling of her fingers brushing Lyse’s scalp sending a little thrill through her.

“Maybe _I_ should go,” Thancred joked a little uncomfortably.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Y’shtola said, sounding like nothing so much as a schoolteacher reprimanding a pupil. “Lyse. What do you want?”

 _This,_ was all she could think. _More of this._ “I’m gay,” she blurted out.

“Oh, sweet, I know,” Y’shtola said, returning her hand to stroking Lyse’s cheek.

“Stop doing that,” Lyse said. “Knowing things.”

“Or at least claiming to know them,” Thancred said.

Y’shtola ignored him. “It’s fine, of course,” she said. “Thancred and I are both bisexual.”

“Shtola!” Thancred said, sounding almost scandalized.

Lyse tried and failed to stifle a giggle.

“Whatever you feel—whatever you desire, it’s all perfectly natural. Unfortunately there’s not much I can say, and even less Thancred can, but if you want this…”

“I do,” Lyse said. “Please. I need…” She trailed off. It wasn’t even lust or desire, exactly. She just needed to be close to people she loved.

It took a moment to get her boots off, but her shorts were gone in an instant. She was flat on her back on the bed. Thancred had divested Y’shtola of her robe, and she hovered over Lyse on all fours, the two staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Lyse shivered when Y’shtola touched her bare stomach, trailing a hand down between her thighs.

Thancred stood at the edge of the bed, and she dimly registered that his trousers had gone the way of his shirt and he now stood as naked as his nameday. But Lyse only had eyes for Y’shtola, soft, shapely Y’shtola whose nimble scholar’s hands were doing things to her most sensitive areas. She leaned down and kissed Lyse’s folds, slowly and sweetly, a kind of tender agony.

Behind them Thancred had got most of Y’shtola’s clothes off as well, angling her backside into a better position for him. Lyse knew the exact moment of penetration, because a small cry escaped Y’shtola’s lips and she briefly faltered in her rhythm on Lyse’s clit. Lyse wanted to grab Y’shtola by the hair, pull her closer, but something prevented her from taking an active role. Just then, she wanted only to be tended to, to let go and savor the way Y’shtola was so generously loving her, and she didn’t want to disrupt the rhythm Thancred’s cock was building inside Y’shtola. Somehow his presence was important in a way she hadn’t anticipated. She wasn’t attracted to him, and he wasn’t touching her, but the three of them were so connected that for the first time since losing Papalymo, she felt part of something bigger than herself.

She fisted the covers, letting her eyes drift closed as she arched her back. The low purrs Y’shtola was murmuring into her slick folds added another dimension of sensation, and they became more needy and insistent as Thancred fucked her harder. Lyse squirmed, letting loose sounds of her own she wasn’t even fully aware of.

“Oh gods, please—” Lyse moaned, bucking her hips. She could feel Thancred’s ever more frantic thrusts, driving Y’shtola to press harder into Lyse, every lap of her dextrous tongue more intense than the last. Lyse’s climb towards ecstasy seemed both impossibly long and all too swift. She gasped for air, wanting to shout a half a hundred things, Y’shtola’s name, Thancred’s name, supplications to each of the Twelve, but all that came out was a strangled cry, as if every word inside her had burst forth at the same time. She saw colors and stars and at that moment felt, truly _felt_ , for the first time since removing her mask, and oh, it was glorious. She ground her hips against Y’shtola’s mouth, Y’shtola’s tongue obligingly drawing out that beautiful, wondrous moment for as long as she could manage. It rolled through Lyse like a series of tidal waves, a kind of drowning that only made her feel more alive.

Y’shtola began to falter as Thancred’s cock, hot and thick inside her, pounded relentlessly, the sounds and sensations of Lyse’s climax pushing both of them to the brink. Y’shtola broke contact with Lyse completely, tipping her head back, lost in her own bliss. Her wordless mewling was the sweetest sound Lyse had ever heard, and she could help herself no longer, sitting up to kiss Y’shtola’s neck, her hands slipping under Y’shtola’s thin top to cup her breasts. She made eye contact with Thancred and she could tell he was doing everything he could to see Y’shtola all the way to her peak before letting go himself. Lyse’s hands drifted over the soft curves, coming to cup Y’shtola’s buttocks as she kissed her clavicle and down into her décolletage.

And then it was clear Y’shtola had lost all awareness of everything but a singularly overpowering orgasm. It was too much for Thancred, the sweet sounds of ecstasy, the sight of Lyse’s hands on Y’shtola’s curves. He gave a garbled cry of his own, his increasingly jerky thrusts beginning to slow even as he strove to push as deep as he could, desperate to make it last for both of them until he was spent.

Y’shtola allowed herself to collapse on top of Lyse, and Thancred crawled onto the bad beside them, the three of them a jumble of gasping, sweaty limbs. Lyse shed her jacket and top, desperate for the feeling of as much skin on skin as possible. She reached across Y’shtola, twining her fingers in Thancred’s.

“That was…” Y’shtola said into the crook of Lyse’s neck after a long moment trying to get her breath back.

“Amazing,” Thancred said.

“Needed,” Lyse added.

“I was going to say loud, actually,” Y’shtola muttered.

“Oh,” said Thancred. “Well, I suppose that means everyone will be too embarrassed to check in on us for some time, which is grand as I’m quite knackered.”

Lyse felt alive, electricity buzzing through her, but she wanted nothing more than to stay in this loving heap with her friends.

“Thank you,” she said.

Y’shtola spluttered out a small laugh. “Trust us, we enjoyed it as much as you.”

“Maybe more,” Thancred added.

“I don’t know about that,” Lyse said teasingly. “Have you ever had Shtola’s tongue on your clit?”

“I can’t say that I have, but I can speak for her skill with it.”

“Mm,” Y’shtola muttered. “Please, by all means, continue to extoll my many virtues.”

“You have breasts,” said Lyse, earning a startled chortle from Thancred. “I’ve always admired them.”

“They are indeed quite admirable,” Thancred said, reaching around with his free hand to cup one. “But let’s not forget how you once called my cock magic, Shtola.”

“I don’t believe I ever said any such thing,” Y’shtola said.

“Well… _somebody_ did.”

Lyse turned on her side to bury herself in Y’shtola, her fingers tightening on Thancred’s hand.

“Krile will have words for me later,” Y’shtola said. “I’m meant to be on bedrest.”

“You never left the bed,” Thancred pointed out. “Anyway, I don’t know what I can do about Krile, but I can at least keep Alphinaud away.”

“I’m not worried about him. He’ll be far too embarrassed to say a word. Shame is so useful at times, is it not?”

“That’s terrible,” Lyse said.

“And yet also true.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and soon Thancred’s faint snoring alerted them to the fact that he had drifted off. Y’shtola was beginning to doze too, a sign that she had worn herself out thoroughly.

Lyse lie awake, listening to their steady breathing. This wasn’t what she had expected when she had come to pay Y’shtola a visit, but it was what she needed after all. True intimacy, a closeness without words. She was going to have to fully confront her feelings about Papalymo soon; she couldn’t continue carrying them around inside her like so many heavy, jagged stones, especially not with the deteriorating state of Ala Mhigo. But she was not so alone as she had felt. It gave her strength, a renewed sense of passion and purpose. The losses they had suffered only meant that she had to do everything she could not to let them go to waste.

“Y’shtola? Are you awake? I brought your… lunch…” Alphinaud stopped in the doorway, gaping openly at the three stark, messy bodies tangled together on the small infirmary bed. The poor thing had not gotten the memo in time.

Lyse tipped her head back and laughed, and she only felt a little bad about it.


End file.
